


Barrel Love

by SailorChibi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Don't read if you don't like guns being used sexually, Greg is a badass, Gun play, M/M, Mycroft gets off on guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg is threatened by a criminal with a gun. After Greg takes him down, he and Mycroft discover a new way to have some fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barrel Love

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
> For a [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19743.html?thread=119866655) on the BBC kink meme.
> 
> One my rare Sherlock stories that doesn't have any Johnlock. I know; it amazes me, too.

"Get down on your knees or I'll shoot."

The command, pedestrian and over played though it may be, works. Greg lowers himself to his knees, hands outspread to show that he's not holding any weapons so there's no need to follow through on the threat. The criminal, a man in his early fourties, slightly overweight, and a smoker just like Sherlock said, edges closer. His eyes scan Greg's body anxiously. He's panting from exertion, while Greg feels calm and collected even though there's a gun about a foot away from his face.

"No need to shoot, mate," he says, voice low, like they're sharing a secret. "It'd be a poor idea seeing as how we've got all your information. They'll track you down right quick and then you'll be in even more of a fix. Better to come quietly, yeah?"

"I ain't going to prison," the man hisses, his hand trembling slightly. He's unsettled, on edge, and Greg eases his weight forward, waiting for his chance.

It comes when there's a rattle down the alley and the man twitches and turns to look. Greg springs forward in a low tackle that would've done his rugby coach proud. The man lets out a howl as they both go down and the gun goes flying from his hand. Greg doesn't stop to see where it lands but expertly flips the criminal over and pins him with a knee to his lower spine, both wrists pressed neatly to the small of his back. By the time Sally and a couple of officers come running, alerted by the shout, it's over.

"Ta, Donovan," he says, "give us a hand here?"

"Yes sir." Sally looks at the two men and jerks her head. Greg pops up, relived to let them step in and take over. "You alright?" she asks.

"Nothing permanent," he replies, rubbing his lower back idly. His adrenaline is still thrumming and he feels prickly all over. It's been a long time since he took someone down like that and until he did it, he didn't quite believe he still had it in him.

"Good on." She turns smartly and starts walking towards the mouth, trailing the officers and their struggling package. Greg starts to follow and then pauses, remembering the weapon that so recently threatened his life. He looks around and his gaze finally falls on a glint of metal just barely visible between a couple of piles of trash. He doesn't dare leave it there long enough for the crime scene boys to arrive; god knows who could make off with it.

A hand carresses his bum while he's leaning down. Greg jumps and swears and spins around all at once, which has the effect of nearly sending him over altogether. Mycroft catches his bicep just in time and Greg relaxes.

"Trying to take years off my life now?" he asks playfully, turning and snagging the gun with ease now that he doesn't need to be concerned about watching his back.

"It seems fair," Mycroft says. "You took years off mine tonight."

Greg blinks at him and then looks around. Ah yes, there it is: the small, discrete camera is a couple of stories up and monitors the alley perfectly. "Sorry, love. Didn't mean for you to get an eyeful."

Mycroft just shakes his head and puts his other hand on Greg's chest, like he's feeling for any wounds, even though they both know Greg is whole and healthy except for the occasional bruise. Greg watches him through soft eyes and doesn't protest when Mycroft steps closer and brings their lips together in a kiss. It starts out chaste and slow, a 'thank god you're safe', but it quickly turns passionate. Greg groans low in his throat and uses his free hand to cup Mycroft's arse, bringing the man closer. It's rare that Mycroft forgets himself enough to let something like this happen in public. He needs to take full advantage.

It feels deliciously good to have a handful of Mycroft's firm, plump cheeks after the night he's had. Greg deliberately nibbles on Mycroft's lower lip and thrusts his tongue inside when Mycroft's lips part, greedily sweeping his tongue across every tooth and exploring every crevice. He'll never get enough of that spicy sweet taste that is uniquely Mycroft: one part sweet tea, one part honey, one part cinnamon, and one part something that's wholly Mycroft. Altogether completely addicting.

Mycroft moans and Greg answers with a growl, bringing his other hand up to hold Mycroft still. Or at least, that's what he plans. He forgets about the gun until Mycroft gasps at the feel of the cold metal against his cheek. At the same, his hips buck up against Greg's, searching for friction. Greg breaks off the heated kiss and stares at Mycroft, mesmerized by the blown pupils and flush across Mycroft's cheeks.

"Sorry," he says, and it's almost a question.

"Quite alright," Mycroft murmurs, breathing heavily. His eyes are on the gun. 

Greg's heart is hammering. He slowly brings the gun against Mycroft's chin, trailing it across the delicate skin and up over Mycroft's lower lip, which still bears the fading marks of Greg's teeth. Mycroft's breath hitches and his eyes flutter shut. His hips thrust forward again.

"Fuck," Greg breathes, seeing a brand new avenue opening up to them. He doesn't own a gun so he's never had the chance to see what it does to Mycroft. Apparently he's been missing out on a hell of a lot. His own trousers suddenly feel agonizingly tight. "My, that's... jesus christ I want you."

Mycroft answers with a harsh gasp formed roughly into Greg's name. He looks at Greg and then leans forward, wrapping his mouth around the end of the gun.

Greg is pretty sure his heart stops.

It's easily the fucking hottest thing he has ever seen.

“Jesus.” All of the breath is expelled from Greg’s lungs in a long, heated rush. Mycroft’s eyes never leave Greg’s as he sucks lightly at the barrel, his lips forming a perfect bow around the end of it, cheeks hollowing from the force of his suction. Slowly - agonizingly slowly - he pulls back, sticking out his tongue and sliding it from the tip of the metal only when he absolutely has to. The metal gleams wetly with saliva and Mycroft licks his lips.

“Most intriguing,” he breathes, lowering his gaze to Greg’s crotch, where a sizeable bulge has formed.

“Mycroft,” he begins, and there’s really no way to end that sentence in a way that doesn’t mean “I want to fuck you”, but he never gets the chance to finish. A low babble of voices at the end of the alley makes them both tense. Automatically, Mycroft takes a step backwards and smoothes his suit, bringing up the mask he wears around the public. Greg watches him longingly.

“The rest of my night can be left open,” Mycroft says, surprising them both. “Are you busy?”

“Fuck no.” All thoughts of anything beyond Mycroft and the gun have totally fled his mind. “Where’s your car?”

“This way.”

Mycroft leads him down to the other end of the alley, away from the flashing lights. Greg walks a step behind him, just far enough back that he can watch that luscious arse wiggle with every step Mycroft makes. His throat is dry, which is odd because his mouth is filled with so much saliva he has to work to keep from drooling. They can’t get back to the car fast enough. Anthea is there waiting, but she takes one look at them and seems to realize that her presence is unwanted. Discretely, she moves off to the side.

“I’ll reschedule your meetings then, sir, shall I?” she says, staring fixedly at her phone.

“Please.” Mycroft slides across the seat in an easy movement and Greg scrambles in after him, perversely grateful for the heavily tinted windows that mean he can pounce on Mycroft and jerk the man’s mouth against his in a hot, wet slide that makes them both moan. He presses his cock against the arch of Mycroft’s hip and even through several layers of clothing, the heat is unbelievable. He can’t wait to strip Mycroft bare, but he controls himself. There will be time for that.

Mycroft is watching him with wide, glazed eyes, breathing heavily. Greg presses the gun against his cheek, lightly like, and slides it down so that it edges just under his collar. The safety is on but he knows it’s still armed so he takes caution with every move, keeping his finger well away from the trigger. Whether or not Mycroft is aware of the danger doesn’t seem to matter, judging by the way he presses eagerly into the sweet kiss of the icy metal. 

“I want to,” Greg gasps out loud. It’s impossible to put into words everything that he wants. “Will you let me?”

“Yes, yes, anything.” Panting, Mycroft thrusts up against him, searching for contact. “Anything you want.”

Greg actually has to pause and take a deep breath because he’s pretty sure he could come from hearing that heady promise alone. He regretfully takes the gun away and backs off, knowing that if they continue they’re going to fuck in the car and he doesn’t want to be interrupted this time. Besides, they’re here. The car has stopped and he can hear the driver getting out. Moments later, the door opens, and the carefully professional driver nods at them.

“Sirs,” he says.

“Thank you,” Greg says, climbing out. Mycroft is a little more dignified, unfolding in a way that never fails to make Greg hard, and walks towards the building as calmly as though he’s not got an anxious lover two steps behind. The elevator ride is nothing short of torture and Mycroft unlocks the door with hands that tremble. The second they’re inside Greg slams him against the wall and attaches his mouth to Mycroft’s neck.

“Oh, Gregory,” Mycroft groans, his hands tangling into Greg’s hair. 

“Fuck, My, you’re going to kill me.” Greg pulls back with an obscene slurp, face flushed. “Strip. I want you naked.”

It’s always a treat to watch Mycroft get undressed. Even when he’s aroused to the point of agony, his every movement is full of a raw sensuality, so graceful and careful. He bares each new swath of skin like it’s a hidden treasure, slowly and deliberately, folding his clothing and putting it aside before moving on to the next piece. By the time he’s completely naked Greg has had to adjust his cock in his trousers to relieve the pressure. 

“On the couch,” he says roughly. And now, oh god, watching Mycroft’s bare arse move is impossible. He can’t resist bringing the gun forward and trailing it along the crack and the little choked gasp that action earns him only makes him want more. “Kneel down.”

Mycroft obeys, falling to his knees and shamelessly presenting his arse. Greg kneels down behind him and sets the gun aside, spreading his hands across the glorious stretch of bare flesh. Mycroft’s bum is warm and supple, though firm, and he moans softly when Greg pulls his arse cheeks apart, revealing his small pink entrance. His knees spread perhaps unconsciously and he clenches his hands into the cushions.

“Gregory, please.”

“I know, My. I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good,” Greg promises. He reaches out one hand and gropes in the drawer of the coffee table for the tube of lube. It’s a brand new bottle - good. He thumbs it open and squirts some on his fingers, briskly rubbing his hands together to warm it up. The first thing he does is reach around Mycroft’s hip and grab his cock. It’s fully erect and leaking with pre-come. Mycroft whimpers at the first long stroke and arches his back, pressing his arse against Greg.

“Shh,” Greg soothes, releasing his cock and grabbing the gun. He might not own one but he does know what to do with them. It only takes a minute to empty the rounds and another minute to double check and be sure that no bullets remain in the chamber. He doesn’t want to take any chances.

He smears a generous amount of lube across the barrel of the gun. Then, holding it ready with his hand, he presses a finger forward between Mycroft’s cheeks, seeking out his entrance. Mycroft breathes in sharply as it breaches him and then relaxes backwards into the sensation. A low rumbling sound escapes him as Greg gently adds a second finger and begins pumping lightly, fucking him gently, urging the muscle to relax. After a moment Mycroft begins to move, his hips thrusting back and forth, squirming in an effort to get more leverage, to get Greg’s fingers where he really needs them.

“Patience, love,” Greg says. He adds a third finger, loving the way Mycroft’s body accepts the intrusion so readily. He’ll never get tired of seeing his fingers disappearing into Mycroft’s hole or of feeling that exotic, burning heat. Mycroft is like hot silk on the inside, all smooth and greedy. He stretches his three fingers wide and then pulls out, fully enjoying Mycroft’s needy sound of protest. “You ready?”

“Yessss,” Mycroft says, the word coming out in a hiss. “Please. I - _oh_!”

The shocked cry that emerges as Greg places the gun to his entrance and pushes gently makes Greg grin. He keeps his eyes glued on Mycroft’s entrance, entranced by the way the delicate skin gives way beneath the cold metal. The slide is remarkably easy due to the copious amount of lube. Mycroft wriggles and whines as Greg eases the gun in another inch. He doesn’t want to go too deep; it’s hard to judge when he’s not using fingers or his cock, but he suspects that this is enough, that this could easily do it. It’s certainly enough for him, especially when he pulls the gun back and then pushes it in, out and in, out and in, an easy rhythm that looks obscene when performed with a gun that was pointed at his head not an hour ago.

“Fuck, I wish you could see this,” he says. “God you’re amazing, Mycroft. I can’t get over you sometimes. Jesus.” He fights to keep himself steady as Mycroft braces himself and pushes back, impaling himself against the barrel with a muffled whimper. Both of them groan at the same time. Greg’s hand shakes on the handle and he leans forward, placing his forehead against Mycroft’s thigh. His lover is trembling, he realizes, the combination of the fucking and the gun too much to handle. He breathes out raggedly and reaches his free hand around, wrapping his fingers around Mycroft’s prick.

“Come on, love, I’ve got you,” he says, and places a kiss right above Mycroft’s fluttering, straining hole.

Mycroft cries out wordlessly when he comes, back arching, head thrown back, eyes shut, mouth parted just enough to let the sound escape. Greg strokes him through it, gentle pulls to avoid over stimulating him, and eases the gun out as the aftershocks begin to fade. He sets it aside and guides Mycroft backwards into his lap, kissing him soundly. It takes a moment before Mycroft can twist around and respond properly to the kiss, and when Greg releases him, he still looks somewhat dazed. It doesn’t last long.

“You’re a marvel, Gregory,” he says, shifting his weight. One of his hands cleverly slips inside Greg’s trousers and underwear, gripping his cock expertly. Greg shifts with a gasp but he’s pinned and there’s no where for him to go. He pants, one hand holding the gun tightly and the other one flailing until Mycroft grabs it and holds it, intertwining their fingers. “I want to see you. I want to watch you.”

His hand dips lower, twisting his wrist until his thumb can rub over Greg’s perineum, and it’s over. Greg groans and comes in his pants like a teenager, the sodden wet heat filthy but arousing all the same. He shudders against Mycroft and bucks his hips as Mycroft smiles, looking pleased. He extracts his hand and sucks at a couple of his fingers, tongue laving over the seed. Greg watches him and even though he just came, he can feel his cock twitching with interest.

“Jesus you’re a threat,” he says.

“You have no idea,” Mycroft says with a smirk, standing, unashamed of his nudity. “Bring the gun, Gregory,” he adds, sauntering towards the bedroom.

Greg brings the gun _and_ the lube. Just in case.


End file.
